I'm A High Functioning Sociopath - It's Genetic
by andyjamjar
Summary: Alex, the daughter of Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler, spent her life running from shadows with her mother. But when she is sent to her father for safety'a sake she crosses paths with people she could never have anticipated.
1. Chapter 1

Alex pushed through the throng of people on Bakers Street. They were all going about their day-to-day lives, unaware of all the hidden things going on in the underground world; she'd seen the hidden things, she'd lived in the underground world. Alex glanced down at her phone, her mum had made her note down the address when she'd left her at the airport. "You'll be safe with your father." Her mother had told her, not that Alex believed this. Alex could look after herself and her dad solved crimes for a living 'A really safe job!' Though Alex sarcastically. There it was: Speedy's Café and by it: the door to 221B Bakers Street. In the café there was an old woman in a floral dress fussing over customers in a motherly way. The door next to the café was big, black and imposing but Alex wasn't scared... well, maybe a bit. Confidently she walked up to the door and rung the bell. As she waited a few customers looked curiously at her camo jacket, maybe they thought it was from an army surplus shop; how wrong they were. A short man with greying ginger hair opened the door. This couldn't be who she was looking for, he was shorter than her mother had described, had the wrong hair and defiantly didn't have the cheekbones her mother had shown her in all the paper cuttings. This man had to be Dr Watson. "Hello Dr Watson," Alex began, "I'm here to see Mr Holmes. My name is Alex Adler-Holmes."


	2. Chapter 2

"You can't be his daughter, or Irene's!" John was pacing up and down the sitting room of 221B. Alex sat in the client chair, answering his questions and Sherlock sat in his armchair in silence.

"I can and I am." Replied Alex calmly, "I mean, it is possible. I can draw you a diagram if you like." Sherlock sniggered.

"But Irene's dead, she was beheaded by a terrorist cell six months after she ran away." John looked to Sherlock, "You knew right?" Sherlock looked up.

"She's not dead, I saved her."

"You did more than that." Murmured Alex. John ignored the teenager.

"But Mycroft said-"

"Mycroft was tricked, after all, I was directly involved." Interrupted Sherlock impatiently. Sherlock seemed permanently in the state normal people were when queuing, thought Alex.

"Fine but… but… he can't have a kid, he just can't! Who'd, I mean, he hasn't… you know…" John awkwardly tried to articulate what most people thought about Sherlock.

"Well apparently he has." Alex gestured to her self, as an explanation, in a quick flick of the wrists. Sherlock sniggered again.

"No he hasn't." Replied John firmly, then less sure, "Have you?" All eyes went to Sherlock.

"Well… maybe… I…" He responded, momentarily flustered.

"Ok," Interrupted Alex, she was slightly embarrassed, "I can prove it!" Alex pulled out her IPhone, entered a very complex password then typed a quick message. "Wait for it!" There was a pause, then:

"_Ahhhhhhhhh."_ Sherlock pulled out his phone.

"She's your daughter Mr Holmes." He read out, defeat in his voice.

"Look," Alex held out her phone triumphantly, "I didn't send that message, I just asked her to! Ha!" John collapsed into a chair, defeated. "Come on Sherlock, you knew all along. Just look at the turn-ups on my jeans." Sherlock nodded.

"So why are you here now?" Asked John.

"Well done John, you asked a good question, at last." Alex said patronisingly

"She's here because the danger her mother and her have been running from all her life, presumable the terrorist cell, just came closer than ever before. Irene thinks it's become too dangerous for her so here she is." Sherlock said it as if it was obvious.

"How did-" John started.

"He read the directions mum texted me when I messaged her, he noticed my old jeans, I would have bought new ones if we'd stayed in an area long enough; he saw the outline of the knife I keep in my boots, which are worn from running, and saw the scar on my neck." Explained Alex curtly, with a flick of the head when she finished to show that was obvious.

"Correct," Confirmed Sherlock, "now if you'll be on your way. John can call you a taxi if you want?"

"Sherlock you can't just kick her out, she's your daughter!" John was shocked, "India's sometimes annoying, but I don't just get rid of her!" John was shocked.

"I _can_ kick her out," Replied Sherlock, "and I am."

"I can't go." Alex was suddenly deadly serious, "Trust me, if I didn't have to be here I wouldn't be. I have to stay, and that's that."

"Last time I checked, this was my home." Sherlock stood-up and crossed the room to the girl. He was much taller than her, but unlike most people, she did not seem belittled by him.

"Technically it's Mrs Hudson's home, you just rent it." Sherlock was not impressed by Alex's cheek.

"I'm busy, I don't need some teenage girl hanging around."

"I'm busy, I don't need some old man hanging around." Retorted Alex.

"Ok, ok," Shouted John, "break it up ladies. Sherlock - she has to stay. Look, I don't live here anymore, she can have my old room and we can send her to India's school. Ok?" From Sherlock's face, it didn't look like it was ok.

"School?" Alex looked horrified. John sighed.

"Just one thing at a time, ok."


	3. Chapter 3

Ruby was sitting on her bed watching a TV program on her laptop, something about angels and demons and stuff like that. It was a large room in a large house in the middle of nowhere. The idea was to remain hidden but in comfort, that had been Ruby's mum's idea, her dad hadn't been good at hiding, he was always a show-off. Even when they'd played hide-and-seek when Ruby was young, he'd jump out as you walked past, trying to find him, and shout:

"Here I am!" That used to make Ruby jump so high, she smiled at the memory. And then he died. They say it was suicide, he shot himself on the roof of St Bartholomew's hospital, a bullet through the roof of his mouth, Ruby had seen the pictures. No one showed her, she'd been five at the time, but later they hadn't been able to stop her and her brother hacking into the police database and viewing the crime scene photos - they were horrible. There was a halo of blood around his head and little white bits floating in it, she didn't even want to think about what those were. The gave Ruby nightmares for months, her dad's empty eyes and smiling face. Why was he happy about leaving them wrecked?

'Nobody realised he was a hero.' Thought Ruby angrily, 'Except Tom and I.' Ruby thought fondly of her brother. Her dad had died trying to stop the only man who could ruin his family, the only man who could destroy everything they had and leave them stranded in the gutter - he was a hero. Ruby's train of thought had distracted her from her program so she slammed the lid of the laptop shut, taking her anger out on her computer. Laying back, she thought about their plan - Tom and Ruby's - to get back at the man who took her father away, but still lived. Sherlock Holmes. 'He didn't deserve to live!' A laugh crept it's way out of Ruby's mouth. It wasn't a happy one. The laugh, that filled the silence in her room, was relieved, it was the laugh of a girl who'd spent her life plotting, and who finally had a plan. Ruby had been hurt, and she was hell-bent on revenge.

The door flew open and Tom strode in. He looked a lot like their dad, he had exactly the same colour hair and an identical jaw-line, but he'd got their mum's features - their mum was beautiful so he was too. A wide, cheeky grin danced upon his face, he was like their dad I that way too, always playful in all situations.

"Alright?" Ruby always spoke with as little syllables as possible when talking to her brother, that way he couldn't twist her words.

"I'm great. How are you?" Ruby opened her mouth to reply, "I just talked to Miss Thomas. Everything seems in order at her end. He doesn't suspect a thing - ignoramus." His sister's eyebrows raised at this last outburst.

"So what do we do now?" Ruby knew what but she didn't like awkward silences and actively tried to avoid them.

"We just wait for Miss Thomas to see a weakness."

"Does she have any ideas?" Ruby was sick of waiting.

"Well, apparently," Thomas' face had almost started to glow with happy malice, "a girl just arrived, a girl by the name of Adler-Holmes."

"Sounds interesting." A pleased grin took over Ruby's face. It was payback time.


	4. Chapter 4

Āine wiped tables, served customers and always kept one eye on the door of 221B. Working for Mrs Hudson in her cafe was ok, but the real money was in surveillance, surveillance of Sherlock Holmes. Sometimes she just notified her boss of when he left and who entered, but occasionally she got to meet the man when she was running earns for Mrs Hudson or when the bumped into each other outside the cafe. If you asked Āine, not that anyone did, she'd say the man was a nutcase. Strange experiments, a delight in death and a tendency to shoot the wall gave you that impression of the man. Though she did think he was hot, in a weird, psychopathic way. So Āine endured. The money was good for a small after-school and weekend job. She'd bought herself a flashy watch and had put plenty of money in her uni fund; money she wouldn't have had before. So maybe the work was slightly fishy, Āine was only the messenger, and no one really shoots the messenger. But now there was this Adler-Holmes girl, she was interesting. Āine couldn't see Sherlock as the sort of guy with a mysterious kid, he seemed quite uninterested in women; though his razor sharp cheekbones meant women were very interested in him. Āine smiled to herself then quickly pulled herself together. A text blinged in on her phone. 'How old is this Adler-Holmes?' It read, cold and concise. Number withheld. Āine had never actually met her boss, she'd met some of his people and she'd texted him, but she'd never met him. Running into the loo, so as not to be disturbed, she typed in a quick: 'About fifteen.' Illusive texts like this one came in all the time, simple questions like 'Where is he?' 'Who is his client?' or 'Is Watson with him?' Āine just answered and didn't answer questions. So that was that. Āine went back to wiping tables and fetching coffee, oblivious the joy her text had brought to a lonely little boy. "Oh yes! Yes!" Tom danced around the living room, "It all fits!" His sister lounged in a chair watching him jump up and down with excitement, she was pretending to be bored. "Fifteen years! Fifteen years! Fifteen years since Irene Adler was 'killed'." "Yay," Ruby droned, "and that means..." "She can be his daughter." Tom was smiling as wide as his as his face would allow. "So..." Ruby was very lost. "Would you mind finishing your sentences?" Tom snapped back, "It means we can use her against him." "But they've only just met. For all we know, he could kick her out. Or Miss Thomas could be mistaken, or lying. Anyway, how can we know she'd be a weakness?" Ruby couldn't dare to hope. "They're flesh and blood - she's a weakness. Maybe not yet but soon she will be. She will be."


	5. Chapter 5

"Here's your room." John opened a bedroom door and ushered Alex in. She threw her bag on the floor carelessly. "Cool." She commented. John stood in the doorway staring at her expectantly. Silence. "Oh... thanks." Alex remembered awkwardly. John raised his eyebrows and left without another word. Alex collapsed onto the bed. A bedroom, she had a bedroom, she'd never had a bedroom before. She'd always shared a room with her mum, in a hotel, in a safe-house or occasionally in a homeless shelter. They'd ways been moving, always on the run. Alex had lived out of a bag her whole life, she'd never had a wardrobe. 'I'm going to enjoy having a wardrobe.' Alex looked up a the celling, exhausted. It had been her job to get here from the airport, without being noticed, and with little money - that had involved a lot of walking. And now she was here. Alex was used to alienation - she'd never been to school, she didn't know a single person her own age and her phone was contact-less (her mum had made her memorise her number). But this was more than loneliness, this was abandonment. Water flooded her eyes and threatened her dignity, so she fought them back. 'Alone in a room, in a flat, with a dad who already hates you after half an hour. Good going.' No, Alex would endure. Her mum would come back and everything would be like it always was, everything would be good. She climbed out of bed, and started tapping the floor with her knuckle. This went on for a while but then: "Yes!" She grabbed a knife from her bag and used it to lever up the floorboard. She pulled it up and to the side. Quickly she looked to the door, to check no one was about to come in, and pulled a gun, two other knifes and a notebook out of her bag, rehoming them in the floor. She then swiftly put the knife she'd used to get the floorboard up, in the space she'd discovered, and replaced the floorboard. Footsteps tapped outside her door and she threw herself onto the bed. The door opened and she 'acted natural'. "Hello." Sherlock said awkwardly. "Hi!" Alex eyed him suspiciously. "I just wanted to say I'm on a case so... I don't want you to disturb me." "Um, ok." Alex gestured with her head that he should get out, "Bye." "Good evening." Sherlock left, closing the door behind him. A text whooshed into John's phone with a sound life thousands of birds flying past all at once. 'Lestrade here. New case. Come now.' Typical Sherlock, a quick concise text with no unnecessary words like 'thanks' or 'please'. John sighed. He enjoyed working with Sherlock, but he loved his family and he had a duty. 'Sorry Sherlock, I have to take India to army cadets.' John put down his phone and sighed again, sometimes he missed the old days. Lestrade stood in the corner watching Sherlock pace up and down the room. "Do you really need to have someone?" Lestrade asked for the fourth time, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Yes!" Snapped Sherlock, "I need someone to talk at!" He banged his hands on his forehead. "Can't you talk at me?" Lestrade was running out of time and patience. "No!" Sherlock looked Lestrade up and down. "Why?!" Lestrade was exasperated. "You don't shut up. Either you be clever or you shut up! You detective inspector do neither!" Lestrade shook his heard in disbelief. "Isn't there anybody?" "No, no one will-" Suddenly his face lit up, "Give me a second!" Sherlock turned and shouted: "Come out Alex, stop eavesdropping in the hall." Alex stepped from the hall into the kitchen, quite confidently for someone who had just be caught in the act of spying. "Hi detective inspector," She waved, "How's your son?" "He's fine, wait how did you-" "You know he's going out with your intern?" Alex ignored his disbelieving question. "What?!" Lestrade was dumbfounded, "Sherlock who is this kid?!" Alex also looked at Sherlock. "Ordinary people are so cute!" She squeaked, "But they're so slow! Shall you tell him or shall I?" It was Sherlock's turn to sigh. "Lestrade, this is my daughter Alex. She'll be coming with us." Lestrade's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. "You have a daughter! You?!" Sherlock turned to Alex and smiled, she smiled back, but it only lasted for a millisecond. "So what happened?" Sherlock was interrogating Lestrade on their way to the crime scene. Lestrade road shotgun, Sherlock was in the back on the right and Alex to the left. "A man dead on the road. It seemed like a car crash but when we looked over the CCTV we found a chunk missing and when we got the autopsy back, the time of death didn't match up. There are no suspicious cars in the footage of surrounding roads. It seems like the man was killed by an invisible car in a separate dimension to ours." Sherlock leant back. "Huum... highly unlikely." "Any ideas?" Lestrade queried. "Five actually." Sherlock replied. "Really?" Alex pushed in to the conversation from her window seat, "I have four." She got two bad looks. "What?!" She exclaimed indignantly, Sherlock sniggered as the car halted smoothly. "We're here." Lestrade pushed his door open at the same time as the driver opened his. Alex and Sherlock went to open their doors but: "Child-lock, sorry." Lestrade had to refrain from giggling as he opened Sherlock's, then Alex's, door. They then both, rather grudgingly, got out. "Hey dad." A young boy ran up to Lestrade. He looked a bit older than Alex and a lot like Lestrade; exactly how you'd imagine young Lestrade, in fact. "I told you to call me detective inspector at work," Chided Lestrade, "you're technically my intern James." "Sorry dad," Apologised James, he then looked to Sherlock, "oh my god you must be Sherlock Holmes. It is such an honour to meet you sir!" James stuck out his hand politely but it was met by a cold: "You're right Alex," Sherlock didn't reply to the boy, but spoke to his daughter, "he is going out with Lestrade's intern." James pulled his hand back like he'd been electrocuted, shocked, just as a brown haired girl jogged up to them, blissfully unaware of James' embarrassment. "There's the other intern." Alex nodded. "Yes," Sherlock agreed, "and she runs a lot." "Yeah, but she cycles more." Concluded Alex. James and the intern gawped like goldfish. Lestrade ignored them, and the Holmes' rudeness, and he introduced brunette intern as Betty, who continued gawping. "So," Continued Sherlock, "where's this crime scene?"


End file.
